"A place only feels whole after I reconstruct it through memory and the touch of my hands."—Dini Nur Aghnia
CNTRFLD. Your latest exhibition, What Gathers, What Holds at Gajah Gallery Yogyakarta, brings together clay, resin, and patchwork into layered, shifting landscapes. How did this body of work come into being—and what were you seeking to “hold” or make visible through it?
DNA. I see nature as a spiritual outlet, and not just something to admire. What Gathers, What Holds came into being through my desire to recreate the sense of peace and reflection that nature gives me. Working with clay, resin, and patchwork became a way of translating those experiences; through this body of work, I wanted to capture not only the image of a landscape, but also traces of time and devotion embedded in the act of making. Every stitch and arrangement carries gestures of repetition and care, almost like a form of prayer. In that sense, the works are reflections of my everyday life and the intimate bond I have with the creative process itself.
CNTRFLD. Presented near Kartini’s Day, the exhibition sits within a wider discourse around women’s agency in Indonesia. How does this context resonate with your use of stitching, repetition, and materially embedded labour?
DNA. I feel empowered when I have the freedom to oversee the entire creative process myself, echoing the belief that we can build our own world with our own hands. I choose to be directly involved in the technical, often considered "heavy", aspects of creation, such as prepping the boards, sanding materials, or maintaining my own machinery. I derive great satisfaction from knowing that every aspect of the work is shaped through my direct involvement.
Although the process is time-consuming and physically exhausting —whether sewing for hours or working with tricky materials— it is also my way of honouring time. In the silence of the night, this labour becomes a form of meditation. The diligence required in carrying out these demanding tasks is one way I celebrate my agency as a woman.
CNTRFLD. Your works resist fixed or totalising views of landscape, instead emerging through fragments and accumulation. What draws you to this idea of landscape as relational—constructed through encounter rather than observation?
DNA. When I recall a moment or a place, it rarely comes back as a single, complete image. What stays with me most are the small things; for example, the colour of the soil, the texture of a stone I held, or the color of the sky at a specific hour. That is why I prefer to compose my work from fragments. This process is not about copying a photograph of a view, but about gathering the shards of feeling I experienced while I was there. By assembling them one by one, I feel like I am reweaving a relationship with that environment. The overlapping landscape becomes my way of showing that a place only feels whole after I reconstruct it through memory and the touch of my hands.
CNTRFLD. You’ve spoken about “overlooked geographies” and the poetics of the everyday. Was there a particular moment or earlier work that clarified this direction in your practice?
DNA. I've always enjoyed the process of creating. Even with large furniture, I prefer building my own rather than just buying a ready-made product. The challenge of learning new skills and exploring different materials to meet my needs is something I value deeply.
The moment that clarified this direction was when I began working with clay. I realised then that my artistic practice is rooted in the same curiosity: how to transform the material in front of me into something new. This direction continued to evolve as I began exploring resin and patchwork. My latest works are the result of that ongoing exploration, a way for me to value every second of time I spend creating with my own hands.
CNTRFLD. Growing up in Gresik and later studying at Institut Seni Indonesia, how did these formative contexts shape your approach to landscape and material?
DNA. In Gresik, I often felt my space was limited; there were many rules and judgments about what was appropriate for a woman to do. However, it was precisely because of that pressure that I began noticing the small things around the house—scrap fabric, wall textures, or quiet corners—as spaces of escape and storytelling.
My direction became clear when I started university at ISI Yogyakarta and realised that art doesn't always have to be about grand subjects. I remember collecting scraps or leftover materials that were often considered worthless.
Seeing how that "waste” could be transformed into something poetic if given time and attention made me realise this is what I want to voice. I want to elevate the geographies often skipped over—the things we consider ordinary everyday life—which actually can be so beautiful if we are willing to pause and look closer.
